


Not So Helpless

by fennelseed



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Library Sex, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennelseed/pseuds/fennelseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would take place just after "Helpless" in season 3. Written in December 2008 as response to a "Giles/Buffy fight and make up" prompt on http://mmm-smut.livejournal.com/155514.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Helpless

Buffy storms into the library at 9:15 PM. Giles is sure she would have slammed the door if it weren't the swinging un-slammable variety. She's wearing trainers, overalls, and a short-sleeved yellow T-shirt, not one of her perky and oh-so-distracting miniskirts, but his heart still lifts and constricts when he sees her. As always.   
  
He loves that shirt. It shows a delicious scoop of cleavage, and it's so tight he suspects she needn't wear a bra beneath it. He's seen her nipples stand out through the fabric in a cool breeze, every tiny ridge visible, fantastically distracting...  
  
But this isn't the moment, or the week, to think about that. The last few days have been atrocious. This is in fact the first time he's seen her today, and she's glaring.   
  
Small wonder.   
  
Yesterday she turned 18, and Giles got sacked. From his true career, anyway; his position as her Watcher. He's still the school librarian, for what that's worth, so he's still here. Among the books. Moping.  
  
"Buffy. Erm, how are you feeling?"  
  
"Look, I'm sorry," she nearly shouts. "I am sorry you got fired for defending me, but it was your own stupid fault!"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"I trusted you. You should have trusted me, too. You should have told me! About the Council, their lame test, everything. We could have done something. We could have, I don't know, faked it for them."  
  
Giles removes his glasses. With them on he can see the anger in her face too clearly; it hurts his eyes and arouses his resentment. "It wouldn't have worked. Can we please sit down and discuss this calmly?"  
  
Buffy smacks a library table with her palm. The legs creak and shudder under the wrath of the Slayer. "You got fired! This ruins everything for me!"  
  
"For you? Yes, it also ruins a few things for me."  
  
"You were supposed to be there always."  
  
"I told you, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"But some other jerk is going to be here now. Getting in the way." She sounds close to tears--the dangerous, furious tears of hers that both move and alarm him so much. "It was supposed to be you, to the end."  
  
Her words start to sink in. He advances a step and puts his glasses back on, wanting further clarity now. "Supposed to be me?"  
  
"It was  _you_  I was willing to die for, or die near, or next to, or in the arms of." A tear spills out of each of her green eyes. She doesn't wipe them away; she keeps her fists clenched at her sides. "No one else. Definitely not some other freak."  
  
His heart pounds. "Buffy."  
  
"Yeah, I know. You have 'a father's love' for me; that's swell. It's fine. I'm used to disastrously mismatched relationships. But at least I thought we'd  _have_  this relationship my whole short life. And you screwed it up when you betrayed me and  _didn't tell me_  what I needed to know. And now someone else is going to get forced on me!"  
  
He steps closer still. He could touch her, feel the straps of those overalls trembling on her shoulders, if he dared to reach out. "I did. I did tell you. I couldn't betray you anymore. And Buffy, he was wrong. About the father's love, I mean."   
  
Her face goes blank with surprise.   
  
Giles laughs dryly. "Oh, I tried to view you that way, believe me. But I can't deny feeling a shameful relief when you turned eighteen. 'Well,' I thought, 'at least now if I slip up and touch her, I'll only get a broken jaw and not a prison sentence.'"  
  
Her mouth falls open. Giles turns away. Good Lord, what has he said? He clearly misinterpreted her words. She only meant he was her favorite friend to have along in a battle, or something like that...  
  
The Slayer spins him around as easily as if he were made of straw, and ensnares him in a kiss.

He tastes her tears, a hint of lipgloss, her saliva. It's like the scent of her, which he knows so well, only now it's twenty times stronger and inside his mouth, and it makes him hard instantly. He's holding her, lifting her, his hands under her arse, before he can think twice. She wraps her legs around him, and he stumbles forward to the table, where he collapses on top of her, never once breaking their string of kisses.

When he finally does break it, it's only to breathe, and to bestow a relieved smile upon her. How alluring, how amazing she looks, sunny blonde hair splashed on his library tabletop, her crotch latched comfortably against his waist.  
  
Her eyes sparkle, all the hurt gone. "Gosh," she says. "If I'd known where this argument was going, I'd have worn something sexier."  
  
"Oh no, this, I think..." Giles unhooks both straps of her overalls, and peels them down to her waist. "...is quite tempting indeed."   
  
She moans before he even touches her. Yes, there are those nipples, pointing up through the yellow cloth as if reaching for him.   
  
He bends and mouths each one through the fabric. Gasping, she closes her eyes and threads her fingers into his hair. In response he shifts and presses his cock against her, letting her feel him.   
  
Her hand squeezes his backside hard enough to leave bruises. "If this is another test Watchers always give their Slayers when they turn eighteen," she breathes, "then I'm liking this one a lot better."  
  
He chuckles. "No, I think the Council would quite have a collective heart attack."  
  
Buffy hauls herself up by hanging onto his tie, which she then unknots and flings across the library. "Let's give 'em an aneurysm too." She pulls off his glasses and sends them clattering onto the table, and yanks him in for a new kiss.  
  
Their kisses turn wetter and faster and harder, and Giles' shirt comes off in the course of it, as do Buffy's trainers and overalls. When her denim slumps to the carpet and she's twining her bare legs around him, he slides a hand down and cups her crotch, feeling a damp streak along the tiny cotton bikini, which is the same yellow as her shirt but polka-dotted with orange.  
  
She grunts, throwing her head back, thrusting herself against his palm. He pants her name with his mouth at her throat.  
  
He recovers himself long enough to ask, "Is this really how you want--here--the table--that is, I could at least take you home with me." Though he's so hard, so tingling with lust, he imagines it much likelier he'd take her, desperate and fast and impossibly cramped, in the front seat of his car.  
  
"Here's good," she says, and attacks the buttons and zipper on his trousers. When she shoves down his pants and exposes him, she pauses a moment to gaze, licking her bottom lip and wrapping her fingers daintily around his cock. Her touch is so light, it's fabulous torture.  
  
He groans, head on her shoulder. "Oh Lord."  
  
Then she grips him with Slayer strength, bringing a startled cry from him--but even the pain is ecstasy. Buffy leaps down, turns him, and seats him on the table so she can stand before him in tight T-shirt and panties, fondling him, desire flushing her cheeks.   
  
Giles pushes both hands up her belly, shoving up her shirt. Ah ha, yes, he was right--her breasts spill out, loose, bare, heavy. When he thumbs and pinches those nipples, she moans and moves forward until his cock bumps against her crotch. She lets go of him and raises both arms so he can tug off her shirt; it gets flung aside with the rest of her outfit, leaving just the damp panties.  
  
And now both he and she are taking care of those--he shoves down one side, she shoves down the other and pulls a leg out of them, and then she dives onto him.

 

Giles can't believe this. It's some delirious dream. He's half reclined on the table in the school library, shirtless, his pants around his knees and his stiff cock exposed; and Buffy, practically nude, is straddling him, spreading her wet sex for him, looking down to angle herself against him. And then with a cry and with her head tipped back, she sheathes him.   
  
Thumbing her clit with one hand, Giles seizes her arse in the other and hangs on as she slams against him, as he plunges into her. They're both grunting, gasping, meeting mouths in random slick kisses and tongue-tangles, until Buffy pants, "Oh God--going to--uhhh!" And she shudders, squeezing his cock tight in wave after wave.  
  
Giles can't hold back another second; with a stutter of her name, he comes inside her.  
  
It's almost a full minute before their spasms slow to a stop, and Buffy slides off him to recline on the table, on her back. "Wow," she says. "I should yell at you way more often."  
  
"I should lose my job way more often."  
  
"You're really not going anywhere?"  
  
"Oh, nowhere. I've far too much to do."  
  
She rolls onto her side, smiling. "Such as?"  
  
He fondles her breasts, taking his leisurely time with it. "You, primarily. In my desk chair. My kitchen floor. The beach perhaps."  
  
"The girls' locker room."  
  
"The boys' too, why not?"  
  
"My shower. The bathrooms at my mom's gallery."  
  
"The back of the new Watcher's car."  
  
"Now you're talking." 

 


End file.
